i'll be seeing you
by skinnieminnie
Summary: a series of drabbles originally posted on my lj in which Spike and Faye are the main protagonists. new and old will collide but the endings will not always be happy. rated M for sexual situations and heavy language.
1. lover i don't have to love

everything's currently being edited and i will post a couple of old drabbles and perhaps a few new ones.

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She saw him at a run-down bar in the seedy part of Mars. Needless to say she was stunned, both at seeing him alive and seeing him with another woman, not a blonde or even a brunette but a fucking redhead. Her eyes narrowed at the sight, it was now or never.

It came over her like a wave, the sex that oozed out of every pore whenever the occasion called for it. Hips swaying to an unheard beat, lips plump and red, breasts spilling out her too small top; she danced her way to the booth where he sat with the foul redhead.

"Long time no see," she smiled seductively, reeling in her prey with a low voice that promised all his wildest fantasies come true.

He looked up, suddenly, with shrewd eyes, "That it is," he smirked back. The sleazy redhead seeing her defeat, quickly slinked out of the booth, leaving Spike for the taking.

She tilt her head, manicured fingernails caressing the lapels of his jacket, "What do you say we get out of here gaucho?"

He seemed to think about it for a split second before he rose from his seat, like a phoenix rising from the ashes, "Lead the way," he signaled, half mocking, half anxious. This would be a brand new dance for them, a new tune to which neither bothered learning the steps.

The walk to her apartment was blurry, she almost forgot where she lived. Her mind ready to explode at the thought of this gorgeous creature in her bed, at her mercy.

She pulled at his jacket slinging it off to the side, tugging at his pants with an ardor she'd never felt before. His hands burned as they gently slipped away her shirt, her jeans, long fingers pressing hard against her. He kissed her fiercely, with the enthusiasm of a man that hadn't been touched in many, many years. He ran his hand through her hair, smiling softly as she led him away to her bed.

"So fucking beautiful," he said softly, looking in her eyes for what seemed like an eternity.

"Shh- Don't talk," she responded harshly, pushing him back against her white sheets. Legs at either side of his hips, no more foreplay, no more tender embraces. She didn't give him a chance to say much of anything as she impaled herself on him.

Her mind went dark, and all she could feel was the place where they connected. She rolled her hips and he grit his teeth, a swift movement with her long legs had him on top of her, his sinewy arms braced against her soft mattress.

"Harder," she moaned, running her long nails across the expanse of his back.

He grunted and let out a long groan, and somewhere, faintly she heard words of love and fake promises. She didn't want to hear it, any of it, no matter how good it made her feel.

"God, I want you," he said, voice nearly inaudible but still somehow it reverberated through his chest and she melted at the smoothness of his voice. He collapsed against her as the waves of orgasm fill her very being.

She rolled over on her side, facing the wall, not wanting to see his face at the moment, but soon she felt his wiry arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her to him, she wanted to cry.

Because all she wanted was a lover she didn't have to love, a one night fuck with someone she once considered herself to be in love with, she wanted to dispose of him as easily as he did her. But already she could feel the tug of eternal sweet words and lovely caresses. She could feel the hurt coming on, the sadness and bitterness that would taint her voice. But maybe this time she'd let herself go, be free, and feel everything.

"I want you too," she whispered in the darkness of her bedroom, and in the dead of the night she kissed a calloused hand, with a promise she wasn't sure she could keep on her lips.


	2. elysium

She was shamed, ill with guilt, stomach clenching angrily at the thought. Bile rising in her throat, it was like some virus, eating away at her perfectly made up face. _She loved Spike_. It wasn't supposed to be this way. She was Poker Alice for fuck's sake, she went around breaking hearts not the other way around. _And now this_.

She wondered what he would say if he ever found out, probably laugh in her face, or slap her hard and tell her to get the fuck over it. Either way she was sure that any of his actions would do much to dull her feelings. She was in love with him, and she would love him forever. Even if in the end she died a lonely woman.

How sad, the infamous Faye Valentine in love with some poor jerk who couldn't get over his dead girlfriend, yet it still didn't make it any less true. Feelings were fickle like that, one minute she hated his guts and the next she was willing to lay her life on the line for his. And besides who was he to tell her what she felt wasn't real? _Fuck him_.

Fuck him and his hypocrisy.


	3. what difference does it make?

She knew who he was when she met him, the kind of man he was. She could see the blood on his hands and all the people he killed trailing behind him like some caravan. The moment she lay eyes on him she saw the monster that resided in him. Yet she was enthralled, he whipped up a storm of fury and death and she was swept away. Mesmerized by those sad killer eyes and the long fingers that could break a man's neck.

He's killed many times, more times than he count, she supposes, but none of that really matters. Not when he lays in between warm sheets with her, his hands wrapping around her waist possessively. The thought that he could break her like a twig making her hotter and wetter than she's ever been. And when his hands reach for her wrists, pinning them above her head; his body heavy on top of hers…

"You can't stop me, even if you wanted," he growls lewdly, rolling his hips toward hers, she whimpers as he enters her hard and fast. The bruises on her thighs and wrists a pretty reminder of what he's capable of.

She knows of the darkness that resides in him, the demon just waiting to be let out. But she wants him, all of him. She wants him so much that none of it makes a difference, not when she knows that deep inside her also rests a monster just waiting to be let out.


	4. dark paradise

i seriously don't know how this got so dark, like Spike just got out of control. oh, and it's a BRAND NEW ficlet :)

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He fucked Muriel once. It was the lousiest fuck of his life, he'd had one too many drinks and was only half hard by the time she gripped his cock and attempted to fuck herself with it. She was loud and screechy, and by the time the full sordid act was done with (entire six minutes and all) Spike's jacket was smeared with about a pound of heavy makeup, courtesy of fucking Muriel against a wall. Needless to say that he stopped frequenting the bar after that.

Spike was a man, albeit a very twisted man who dreamt in sepia and had kicked the bucket twice, but he was a man who had needs. With Julia it had been a religious experience, to a sinner like him it felt like rapture when she took him in her mouth, he would whimper and groan loving words and fake promises; heaven lay between her thighs, of this he was sure. She was sweet and angelic, all a demon of a man like him could ever hope for, she was tender and yielded to his whims, even if it meant certain death for herself. But then he was cast out of cloud nine and fell to Earth a broken, empty, shell of a man.

Julia and he had never been particularly faithful to each other, he was sure there had been other men during their separation, and he'd had plenty of women in between. Women whose names he never remembered, younger and older women, floozies with cheap perfume and fake hair, rich girls who wanted to take danger for a ride, and lonely, wrecked, women who even for a short time wanted to feel something other than the deep void that resided in themselves. Women just like him.

And then came _she_. The bitch of woman who both ruined and yet turned his life into real bliss. He was no longer the protagonist of his self-written tale of death and annihilation, he was a tangible man who felt every single fucking thing. She forced him to live in the present after his last swan dive into obliteration failed completely, he was angry in the beginning, livid at her for not letting a piece of shit like him die, but she persisted like a fucking tumor and would not let up no matter how bad he treated her. He was an evil man and she had proof of that, the first time they fucked had been something out of a horror movie.

She'd been in the kitchen one late night, unsuspecting and vulnerable and for some reason the sight of her in her little cotton shorts and thin shirt had him salivating like a starved animal. He waited until she stood from the kitchen table to pour herself some coffee to make his move, like a wolf he crept behind her; his arms shooting out to either side of her, trapping her against the counter he felt her breath hitch in her throat.

"Don't fucking move," he practically growled, she obeyed and Spike had never been harder in his life.

He moved a hand to her waist and slowly reached toward the apex of her thighs, she was trembling and her breath came out in panicked little huffs but when his fingers touched her center she was warm and damp, "What does your cunt taste like?" he asked while lewdly rolling his hips onto her backside, letting her feel what she did to him, she went rigid at the contact and stayed silent. He gave her thigh a sharp pinch and she whimpered, "_What does your cunt taste like_?"

"Paradise," she breathed.

That night he fucked her against the counter. He swallowed every sigh and moan with his mouth, he made her come so many times that by the end of it she was begging for him to stop, that night he left imprints of his fingers against her soft hips, he left her with his mark, she was forever his and Spike had always had a hard time letting go.

Faye could give as good as she got, some nights he would get on his knees and ask to be hurt, some nights he would bind and spank her ass raw, some nights she would leave bloody scratches along his back, and other nights he would take her in the warmth of her room with the lights turned on, trailing kisses along every inch of her body. He would touch her like she was made of glass and when he was inside her he would whisper words of adoration against her throat, against her lips.

"My dear, you are the one."

She would always laugh after he said those things.

Spike had been with many women before Faye, all kinds of women, old and new, sad and drunk, but she had been the only one to force her way into his very being, guns a blazing and spewed profanities from her red lips she'd somehow turned him into a real, living, breathing, man. She alone was a paradise he never wanted to be cast out of.


	5. kiss with a fist

It all happened in slow motion, it felt like one of those tacky, over-used effects in the movies. Except this wasn't fake, it was one hundred percent real.

One minute she was standing with her gun pointing at the bounty, yelling her lungs out; and the next she was on the cold pavement, blood dribbling out through a hole in her abdomen. The next few moments were a blur as Spike carried her to the Swordfish, arranging her none too comfortably on his lap. She could hear him talking to her but it sounded so far away, even though at one point he was shouting very loudly, something along the lines of "Don't you fucking die, you bitch!" If she hadn't been half conscious she would have rather pissed, but the thought was appreciated.

"What the hell happened?" she heard Jet asking, apparently they'd arrived on the Bebop.

"Fuck- she- I tried…"

"We have to get the bullet out," Jet said hurriedly, _Yeah well, no shit Sherlock_.

She could hear him scrambling around, digging through piles of shit to get to the medical kit while Spike sat on the floor next to the couch, mumbling things she couldn't quite understand. An eternity seemed to pass until Jet returned. Faye smelled the pungent odor of disinfectant as he opened the bottled, a second later she felt the smooth material of medical gauze on her skin and she grit her teeth; that shit stung like a motherfucker.

"Hold her down," Jet ordered Spike. Next thing she knew Spike was straddling her thighs, pressing his weight against her slender frame, calloused hands holding her wrists down.

"Ok, One. Two…" Jet didn't even finish counting, he dug the little pincers on her tender flesh, digging for the bullet, and here she thought the disinfectant had hurt.

She tried to move, tried to get away from Jet's rough fingers but Spike held her down steadily, her eyes were wide open and she could see the deep red stain that tainted her pale skin, it was like a scene from a horror movie, "Fuck! Please, make it stop" she shrieked.

"You're only making it harder on yourself," Jet yelled back.

"Oh god," she sighed, and passed out for the second time that night.

Hours later she woke to the smell of ramen noodles and vegetables, she was starving. Slowly she opened her eyes, wondering where the hell she was. The ceiling light hurt her eyes so she turned away, facing a rather somber looking Spike, and he sat on the yellow seat next to the coffee table.

"Oh hey," she tried to smile, but the pain in her side was being a complete bitch.

He stayed silent, the serious expression on his face never leaving. He stood from the seat and languidly walked to where she lay on the couch, he bent low so he was at face level with her and without a single warning his right hand shot out, smacking her across the cheek, her eyes widened in shock.

"What the fu-"

"Don't you ever fucking scare me like that again," he said sternly, scolding her like he would a small child.

She opened and closed her mouth a few times before the words finally left her mouth, "I-I'm sorry."

"Good," Spike nodded, he kneeled beside her and fiercely pressed his lips against hers, his hand cradling her reddened cheek. She was breathless as he pulled back, a silly grin on his face.

And if every slap ended with a kiss, then she'd absolutely have to get shot more often.


End file.
